Canonization
by Aero Warriors
Summary: The movie, in written form.
1. Chapter 1: The Day of the Dead

**[This isn't finished, but I like what it is so far, so give me suggestions on how to improve it! :)]**

"No retreat, no surrender!" The three children held their false swords up high, and ran into the town from the port, whooping joyously, at midnight on the Day of the Dead.

Within the small town of San Angel, everyone was awake, and standing before the graves of their loved ones, wishing them luck and offering gifts to the remembered souls. Candles lit up the night sky as they prayed for the beloved spirits.

However, one bitter soul was there amongst the others: Xibalba, the ruler of the Land of the Forgotten, grumbled about the awful conditions of the place he ruled. La Meurte, who ruled the Land of the Remembered, ignored his complaints, and instead stood there, watching the children play amongst the graves, out of sight.

"Really, my dear, you have no idea how cold and vile the Land of the Forgotten has become," Xibalba muttered. He folded his arms and huffed.

La Meurte chuckled, and eyed him with a smirk. "Just like your heart, Xibalba. Just like your heart."

The two passed a grave, and as they did so, Xibalba wiped out the candle flames placed there. La Meurte revived them, and the man at the grave gasped as he saw it.

La Meurte laughed once more, while Xibalba complained, "Why must I rule a bleak wasteland while you enjoy the endless fiesta in the Land of the Remembered? It's simply unfair."

But as he said thus, he sneakily reached out one figure to an old man staying near a grave, but just as he was about to swoop a black wing of death onto the wrinkled figure, La Meurte slapped his hand away, hissing, "Xibalba!"

"What? It's his time!" Xibalba protested. "More or less."

"Uh-uh. Not today, my love," La Meurte stated bluntly.

"Come on, my dear, trade lands with me!" Xibalba bargained. "I beg you!"

"Oh you're so cute when you beg!" La Meurte said sarcastically.

"I'm serious! I hate it down there!"

"Hey! You're there because you cheated!" La Meurte snapped, shoving her skeleton-like face close to his, her eyes blazing with anger. "You made your bed with that wager. You're not the man I fell in love with all those centuries ago." She turned away from him, crossing her arms.

Xibalba stammered, "Uh, let's not dwell on the past, _mi amor_."

La Meurte growled angrily.

"Anyway, uh, I was thinking... How about another little wager?" He smiled in a charming, rascal-like way at her.

La Muerte's eyes roared with flames once more, and she shouted, "You think you can calm the flames of my anger with another BET?!"

Xibalba blinked innocently, and his face said, Kind of.

La Meurte seemed to calm down, and her voice was cold as she said, "What exactly did you have in mind?"

Xibalba chuckled in a devilish way, and they swooped on top of the tower overlooking the moon. "Let's check out the menu for the evening."

La Meurte murmured agreement, and Xibalba continued, "Ah, look there my love. Classic mortal dilemma." He pointed to a clear area just below the tower, where the three children from the port were playing. From what they could see, the two boys were trying to impress the third girl, who sat on the top of one of the graves. "Two boys. Best friends, no less."

La Meurte sighed. "Oh, in love with the same girl."

One of the boys was pretending to be a knight, showing of his swordsmanship to her, while the other, more quiet, was trying to win her over by a nice song. The swords boy (who also had a fake mustache) interrupted the guitarist by yelling, "Fear not, _senorita_! Your hero has arrived!" and dancing in front of the other, displaying his sword.

"Is that so?" the girl teased, cocking her head curiously.

"How dare you interrupt a _guitarista_!" the boy with the guitar interrupted, strumming a tune out from the guitar strings. The two started to duel, and the swords boy fell down, whilst the musician seized his chance to dash over to where the girl was sitting, and she giggled.

But the other one flung him to the ground again, and he stayed beside the grave, his fake mustache swinging somewhat, and the girl laughed.

"The girl is mine!" the boy with the sword yelled, and the other fired back, "Never!" and the fight continued. "She is mine!"

At that point, the girl leaped off the grave, and shoved them to the ground, standing and crossing her arms. "I belong to no one."

They eyed her, amazement dancing in their gazes. "Woah," they said in unison.

Xibalba sighed. "I believe we have our wager. Which boy will marry her?"

And although that was way off in the future, La Meurte replied, "Very well. We will each choose one of these boys as our champion."

They disguised themselves as old fellows, and Xibalba said, "Let's go wish them luck."

The guitarist asked the girl, "Maria, weren't you grounded?"

Maria groaned in protest. "My father is overreacting. How was I supposed to know that chickens don't like baths?" When she said it, a chicken passed the grave she was standing beside, squawking and bubbles passing out of its beak. She finally shut up.

The mustached boy nudged her elbow playfully. "Don't worry, he knows a real man is protecting you tonight."

Maria flashed him a look. "You're not even _close_!"

"But I have a mustache!" he protested, and the other boy jumped in, laughing, "Yeah. Just like your grandma!" He gave him a gentle shove.

The false mustache flew off his face, and he gasped, catching and putting it back in place. They all laughed, since one part of it had slipped off his mouth.


	2. Chapter 2: How About a Wager?

"Maria!"

"Manolo!"

The two other children raised their heads as the separate voices called them, and, hastily saying goodbye to the moustached boy (whose name was Joaquín), split, running in different directions. Joaquín waved, then sighed, hanging his head.

Manolo (the boy with the guitar) ran amongst the graves hurriedly, to pause at a grave with a heart headstone. his father, a deep-chested, battle-scarred man, and his grandmother, a weaver, were beside the grave, waiting for him. His father beckoned him closer. "Come, _mijo_."

Manolo breathed heavily, then joined them beside the tomb. The words "Carmen Sanchez: Beloved Mother", along with a portrait of a beautiful woman, were displayed on the heart headpiece. Dozens of candles lit up the grave.

"Your mother would be so proud of you," his father told him softly. Manolo looked up hopefully.

"You think she'll come back tonight?"

"Carmen is here," his grandmother said, looking up from her knitting, and his father bent down to explain. "But it's more like… like a warm feeling you get when loved ones are with you. All of these families have lost someone," he added, sweeping his arm to indicate the other people by their tombs, but as long as we remember them, we can feel their presence with us for one night each year."

Manolo sighed, resting his hands on the flowers on the grave, and whispered, "I just thought… I might see her… one more time… "

Memories swirled in his head. He then spoke- and what he said was almost nonsensical- but he had to say at least _something_. "She always smelled like flowers. I remember her… singing."

His grandmother looked up. "She was a good woman, that one."

The boy's voice grew hoarse. "I miss her… so much."

"Just be still, and you can feel it." His father rested one hand on his shoulder. "Your mother is here, along with all our ancestors. As long as we remember them, they are with us. The moment we forget them, they are truly gone."

His words soothed Manolo, and the boy relaxed, imagining Carmen behind him, wherever he went, never to be forgotten. "I can feel them," he whispered.

They then looked up to see a kind old woman walking towards them. "Kind people, may I please have a bit of your bread? I am so hungry."

In a phase of kindness, Manolo picked up one loaf and offered it to the lady. "I'm sure Mama would want you to have it. Right, Papa?" he added turning towards his father.

Papa nodded.

"Thank you, my dear," the woman said gratefully. "In return, you have my blessing. May your heart be always pure and courageous."

"What do we say, Manolo?" Papa chided gently, and Manolo dipped his head. "Thank you, _señora_. Thank you."

Not too far from them, Joaquín chuckled and shook his head. "Ah, Manolo. Always giving away stuff for free. Right, Dad?" he added, turning to look at the statue behind him.

Joaquín's father, Captain Mondragon, had passed away fighting the fearsome bandit known as Chakal. The boy stood in the statue's shadow, saluting, before an evil chuckling interrupted him. He gasped, whirling around, and stared into the shadows.

"Wh-Who's in there?" he stammered.

Suddenly, a hideous old man appeared, grinning. Joaquín gasped, and the man asked, "Young sir, may I please have some of your bread? I am so hungry."

The exact opposite of Manolo, Joaquín took away the bread. "This bread is for my father." He smirked, spearing it with his sword, and twirling it on the blade top. "And it's delicious."

The elder look disappointed, then smiled. "Well perhaps you would consider… a trade?" He held up something. it was in the shape of a skull, with black and green surrounding crystals.

Joaquín snorted. "An old medal? Please!" He took a bite of the bread

"Oh, this is no ordinary medal, my boy As long as you wear it, you cannot be hurt, and it will give you immeasurable courage." Enticed, the boy took it, and it thrummed with a green light.

"Really? Deal!" He tossed the old man the bread loaf.

The man chuckled, then warned, "But… keep it hidden. There is a bandit king who would stop at _nothing _to get it back."

"Bandit king?" Joaquín gasped. "You mean Chakal?" But when he looked up, the man had gone, only leaving a devious laugh behind. "Where did he go?"

As you remember, that man was Xibalba, and he joined La Meurte at the tower. "So then, if my boy marries the girl," he stated, "I will finally rule the Land of the Remembered."

"And if my boy marries the girl," La Meurte concurred, stroking Xibalba's chin, "you will…"

Xibalba relaxed, panting like a hound, but then La Meurte pulled his jaw down, _hard_. "... you will _stop _interfering with the affairs of man!" She flew off in a golden trail.

"_What_?" Xibalba streaked after her, in a line as black and slick as tar. "I can't do that! Come on! It's the only fun I ever get!"

"Then the bet is off."

Xibalba growled, seeing her glide away again, then chuckled, thinking of an idea. He met her at the tower.

"Very well, my dear." He held out one hand, and La Meurte took it. "By the ancient rules…

"the wager is set."


End file.
